


Idiots

by MiladyPheonix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, BAMF Molly, Gen, POV Multiple, Reichenbach Feels, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 08:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyPheonix/pseuds/MiladyPheonix
Summary: A reunion AU. Always a happy ending with me.





	Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a WIP for months, finally done and I'm not 100% happy but I'm 100% happier with it now.

*weeks ago*

Sherlock had torn through the last two spiders nests so quickly that he’d barely interrogated the last three men before executing them. He never imagined he would become this, a killer, but maybe Moriarty had burned the heart out of him. He still left evidence at each scene for the local police to confirm that only Moriarty's people had died but it was getting difficult to waste the time doing so. Moriarty was dead and his web had finally melted in desperate fire, if anything still survived it would hopefully die in the blaze Sherlock left behind him because he needed to get home now. There had been no news of John on any of Mycroft’s supposedly secure files for months but a deep hack had given him everything, a nightmare, he had told his brother to watch over John Watson because he knew this mission might end his own life. Now he would have to kill Mycroft, what the hell was his useless big brother even doing.

…

Mycroft gripped the handle of his umbrella as he looked at the wasted form strapped to the gurney behind bullet proof glass. There was nothing he could do but watch the scraps of his brother's only friend fade away. “John Watson, you have been convicted of the number of thirteen men and sentenced to death by lethal injection. Your sentence is about to be carried out, do you have any last words" “Sherlock" was the only response from Dr John Watson former Captain in her Majesties RAMC. He'd had not spoken for months, not to his friends, not to his victims, not even in his own defence.

John breathed out the only name that meant anything anymore, his reason for everything. His body ached from neglect and even his final cup of tea had just tasted wrong but his mind raced and he couldn't figure out if it was because the needle was about to go in or because it was finally the end of everything. He felt the needle sting his skin so he closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and just hoped.

Mycroft lowered his gaze, John was the only link left he had to Sherlock’s legacy and soon John would be gone too although the records of thirteen flawlessly disassembled bodies in the morgue told the tale of how long Dr Watson had really been gone for. Raising his eyes Mycroft saw the emaciated frame shudder and his eyes dropped on the floor again however they would not focus and Mycroft could not raise his head or even keep his eyes open. He felt darkness engulf his mind and knew he was sliding off the chair. He couldn’t even brace himself to land, all he could do was hope.

John’s eyes flew open as three heavy thumps set his heart racing; his executioner, the doctor who would declare him dead… and the last had been metallic, the door obviously. He couldn’t understand why he was conscious but he opened his eyes and forced his vision to focus. A pale shape swam into view as a blur of high cheek bones and black hair before everything darkened again, he'd have smiled if he could because Sherlock had made him tea.

Sherlock was high as a kite but Wiggins had been right the hit had counteracted the drug he had pumped through the air conditioning so he eased the needle out of John's arm, unbuckled the hateful straps and lifted his friend off the gurney that would have been his death bed. He would have to take Mycroft too because he had words for his brother, a lot of words but they would have to wait because John was more important right now. Getting his unconscious brother into the estate car Molly had hired proved complicated as Mycroft had picked up some weight, clearly grieving made his brother eat more, Kummerspeck as the Germans would say. John had lost stones, far too much weight which he couldn’t afford too loose and even Molly was showing strain too, hiding his secret had taken a toll on her. He had taken a toll on everyone.

Lugging Mycroft up the stairs was a chore and Sherlock almost left him to sleep off the gas in the hall but he was always unbearable after a night on the floor. John weighed nothing though Molly assured Sherlock his pulse was steady just a bit slow, none of the executioner’s drugs had been administered but “He’s in a bit of a state Sherlock". John was soon tucked into Sherlock’s own bed, he'd barely been able to enter John’s room it was an orgy of evidence; Maps, time tables for victims routines, disposal plans. It was horrifying but amateurish in its simplicity and Sherlock shuddered at the thought that John truly was so far gone so he tried not to think of the rest of the evidence, the days of stubble on John’s face and how his fine bones pressed too close under his papery skin. He quietly thanked Molly and closed the door because a hot shower was all Sherlock needed though he wept and shook under the beating spray as the faces of his friends suffered behind his eyes. Once he felt clean again the water had run cold so he wrapped himself up in his oldest dressing gown and collapsed on the bed next to whatever was left of John Hamish Watson.

John woke slowly to the dusty smell of neglected bed sheets and he opened his eyes to see Sherlock with his dark curls damp on the pillow, alive but looking noticeably undernourished even in the soft streetlamps. His every hope was suddenly fulfilled right there in front of him and the last few months crashed down on him; the fear that had been they were wrong, the desperate choice he had made, again and again those horrific reports, even his endless simple hunger. It was over, it had worked. He buried his face in the pillow and wept, exhausted, broken but so relieved.

Sherlock was pulled out of his doze by a gut wrenching sound, an exhausted sobbing noise he never thought that John Watson could even make but he could offer no comfort for John's destroyed life so he could only watch silently as the man who saved him, the man he had saved, and his only friend cried himself back to sleep. Once John’s breathing had settled and Sherlock was sure his REM cycle was stable he carefully got up and dressed in familiar clothes that no longer fit him. He made toast in the kitchen, poorly as he’d long lost the knack of their toaster then ate some food and waited for his brother. The drugs he'd used would leave one feeling pretty terrible without the antidote he’d taken and fed to John as well but Sherlock found he just couldn’t care right now, so he crunched through bad toast and tried to stare his big brother into consciousness… it used to work.

Mycroft woke strangely groggy and his neck screamed as he lifted his head. His nose told him he wasn’t home as dust, chemicals and burning toast told him he was in 221B and the pain in his spine confirmed it. “You’ve been slipping BrotherMine, thirteen dead, you need to fix this Mycroft” Mycroft turned to meet the chilly variegated eyes glaring at him from across the room, his mad, feckless, ridiculous little brother was alive with toast crumbs in his cheek. Sherlock lived and was clearly angry but Mycroft knew his part in his brother’s dramatics. “The sofa, really Sherlock” Mycroft drawled only to start off the sofa as Sherlock slumped to the floor, Sherlock had shot to his feet at his brother's cavalier comment but now instead of his usual spirited tirade he was sprawled across the dusty rug where the light from the windows threw his face into sharp relief, the hollows at his cheeks and temples evidence of the ordeal that Mycroft didn't want to deduce. He rolled his little brother over in a practised move, even high Sherlock usually responded to being touched so Mycroft shook him and started calling his name, his panic must have coloured his voice because it drew soft steps padding down the hall from his brother's room. There's a Doctor in the house.

John stirred at the sound of a heavy thump but when he heard actual panic in the voice of Mycroft Holmes he jolted awake because the only thing that could make Mycroft panic was Sherlock, so Sherlock must have been the thump which was always a bit not good. Sighing he heaved himself out of bed and headed into the lounge to see Mycroft leaning over the prone body of his little brother and looking to John for help. John never thought he would hear Mycroft panic but once they had Sherlock semi conscious and back on the sofa he understood why. Scars, some months old and some still healing covered Sherlock's pale skin like constellations of stars and he would have to call Molly as there were track marks as well, he needed to know what had been pumped into his best friend.

Molly heard her phone go off in the middle of the night and answered it in her sleep, it was John and her adrenalin spiked but he sounded anxious and not angry which was a relief. Mycroft would get her any equipment she required but they needed the blood work for Sherlock done at once, she had no idea how they would get some of the larger pieces into 221B but assumed the government had field versions. “You're the only one we can trust with this, please Molly" John had pleaded and that had stung a little, they trusted her but of course they trusted her so she just had to keep it together. She spoke briefly to Mycroft not trusting herself with a perceptive Holmes and gave him the list she needed after confirming how much of Sherlock's own lab still existed. The lab was entirely untouched so the list was short. “Gimme an hour okay? I need a wash and some food” “Of course Miss Hooper, it will take a few moments to obtain everything and set it up, fortunately my brother’s laboratory was surprisingly well appointed.” Molly swallowed bile because Mycroft Holmes was being polite, compliments meant things must be bad.

Mrs Hudson woke up at a loud thump she knew the sound of someone falling down on the floor above but who, had someone broken in? She knew that John’s execution was tonight and she had cried and scolded those two for their insane gamble with John's life or had the plan worked. She prepared a tea tray for three including a few gingernuts and carefully started up the stairs. She would always believe in her mad boy, always believe in Sherlock Holmes so she could only hope. Mrs Hudson raced up the last flight with a cry at the sight of the dark haired figure on the floor but John was attending to him and Mycroft was here so it must have worked, Sherlock had come back to save John. She had been so terribly worried but they were finally home and she leaned quietly on Mycroft's shoulder as she recovered.

Mycroft watched Molly Hopper trudge up the stairs and he observed that she looked tense and exhausted but they had relied heavily on her for the last few months. Someone had been needed to create the records of John's murder spree who would also be motivated enough to keep their secret and any actual bodies would have gone to St Barts anyway. There was nothing to fix as his brother had so eloquently put it but he needed his brother conscious to hear that so he left the medical work to the medical professionals and felt his shoulders relax as Molly worked efficiently at finding a vein and starting the necessary tests but something was off... She had been relieved but not surprised to see Sherlock back in 221B. Had she always had faith in him or was he missing the blindingly obvious... Rolling his eyes he had to know the truth. “Miss Hooper” Mycroft started as calmly as possible. “You seem relieved but not surprised to see my brother is there something we’ve missed by any chance" Mycroft watched the pathologist’s throat freeze before she cleared it “He thought it for the best.”

The argument she had had with Sherlock had boiled in Molly's stomach for weeks like acid biting whenever she tried to eat. She had wanted him to not leave his friends thinking him dead but he had eventually admitted that he was not sure if he would survive and would rather face the consequences of his return than die on the mission and leave everyone who cared so much with no closure. It was a relief to tell everything at last; to share how she had drawn the required blood and provided a corpse which was why the final show down had taken place at the hospital. She explained painstakingly finding the lookalike’s corpse and faking the records for the funeral, a coffin for Moriarty's last victim.

John could not believe his ears and he knew he should be furious but Sherlock was home and John could admit that Molly had been brilliant. She had known Sherlock hadn’t died all the time she had helped them with their plan but she had never simply told them because she wasn’t sure if he was still not dead. Hearing Mycroft's long suffering groan had confirmed it they had been thoroughly played by Molly bloody Hooper and he smiled to himself until he heard Sherlock calling his name from the lounge.

Sherlock woke up and his neck informed him that Mycroft had left him on the sofa but more importantly “John!” he had to know where John was and seeing him striding out of the kitchen was such a relief that Sherlock even lay still for the brief physical that followed although the cussing out that John gave him next was not so relaxing but he deserved it and clearly he had missed something about the dead men or John wouldn't still be in Baker Street. He glanced at his big brother who gave him the same "Think about it Sherlock" smile that had plagued his childhood, the evidence in John’s room was in tact and a quick trip through his mind palace confirmed there had been no powder or markers from evidence collection, no investigation of the nest upstairs and he'd completely missed it in his panic to save John, had there been no investigation? Sherlock could hear Molly expand on her part in his plan to Mycroft, that's what John had been so angry about but he couldn't think straight and it was driving him crazy. He watched her come in from the kitchen, pale with hectic spots of red at her cheeks and then he understood as she explained that she had faked the murder records for John, Mycroft had fabricated the evidence, and John had written the police reports to ensure the grisly details were correct. “Your life John! You gambled your life that I was alive and would even be able to reach you in time! And you two just let him! You helped him get himself killed!” Sherlock turned from his brother to the woman he trusted.

Mycroft moved quickly between his brother and Miss Hooper, unsure of how Sherlock would react but the sound of laughter ringing from his little brother's chest was the most reassuring thing he had heard for months. “Molly Hooper, you are fantastic! Turn about is fair play?” He watched his brother grin a bit manically then dissolve into giggles at her quiet “Yes Sherlock “ He would have to keep a closer eye on Miss Molly Hooper as there was clearly more there than he first saw not many people could fool Sherlock much less himself. The blood work had come back telling it's own nightmare of malnutrition, various drugs including Morphine though that was excusable as pain management, and even a mild infection setting in. It would takes weeks to get Sherlock's system sorted out but as he watched his brother chuckle over Molly deceiving them all he felt less apprehensive, Sherlock had a good team... good friends around him and while explaining to his sibling that the information of John's murders had been deliberately hidden where he would find it was unnecessary, Sherlock always liked explanations and Mycroft was in an indulgent mood.

Mrs Hudson heard Sherlock's laughter from 221B and was smiling herself when she arrived with more tea and biscuits. Dear Molly had had a finger in both pies and she couldn't imagine the stress the poor thing must have felt but everyone was home and Mycroft was going to ensure the evidence against John disappeared, it had never really existed. The gingernuts were all gone but at least her boys were eating again, John had been starving himself ruthlessly for ages, he was a doctor though and knew how to handle the consequences. She would look after her boys for a while still and another round of tea would see everyone till dinner time.

Greg ground his teeth, he had been in for it since Sherlock had jumped and didn’t want to contemplate why he had been summoned to the office of Mycroft Holmes, but the Chief had given him orders so off he went. Was he going to be blamed for John's loosing the plot too? Greg just didn't care anymore, the two of them had been amazing and now it was all in ruins... He blamed himself for his friends downfalls already anyway. He was met by an attractively professional woman and John, looking a bit healthier than he had in prison if still a little grey in the face. “What the hell, John!” Greg almost grabbed the shorter man off his feet as his heart raced. “Mistrial as it happens" John replied to his unasked question. “He'll explain everything” and John led the way into Mycroft's office. “Mr Holmes, perhaps you could explain.” But Mycroft just smiled at him like a snake that had spotted it’s favourite prey. “This may come as a bit of a shock Detective Inspector, but we’ve a doctor in attendance" “Lestrade... Greg"

Sherlock watched his friend reel backwards from him but held his ground as John settled the man into a chair. “God you called me Greg! Now I know I’m dreaming, you mad bastards. You’re both dead, am I dead? John what?” John took Greg's pulse as the colour returned to his face and Sherlock breathed again before explaining. “My fall was a trick for Moriarty's network, if I was dead I could dismantle the web and everyone would be safe, you see, he gave orders to his snipers to kill those I cared for and killed himself before I could make him rescind them. John never believed it so he and Mycroft came up with their idiotically insane plan to get John done for murder and tempt me home to save him.” “Idiotic, You jump off a building!” John burst out before subsiding with a chuckle.

Mycroft rose and handed the DI the file that showed who the targets where. “Thanks for that Mate” He’d said to Sherlock and Mycroft left them his office to discuss things. Sherlock would be fine.


End file.
